And We All Fall Down
by eternally lachambers
Summary: "Those… that's not snow. Those are ashes… ashes from the explosion. You're... you have ashes in your hair."


The snowflakes start to fall almost immediately after… after the… let me just say… after the failed mission. The failed mission.

 _The failed mission._

The snowflakes fall down from the black, darkened sky, surrounding my entire body with innocent kisses from the snowflakes.

I sit there in silence.

The failed mission's results were devastating. It was my fault.

All my fault.

I blindly make my way over to a car and sit down. The car groans a bit under my weight, but I don't care.

I watch the snowflakes fall around and on my body and watch as they make their way to the blacktop and settle down there.

This mission was first failed mission in around five or six months. I don't know exactly how many missions we've been on as a team, I've lost count of how many successful missions we've been on as a team. We've gone on lots of missions, and we've successfully saved the day and did every single mission correctly and safely. _Every. Single. Mission._

 _Every. Single. Mission. We've. Ever. Been. On._

More snowflakes fall from the sky.

I had called Mr. Davenport with a phone one of the people dressed in white provided me with since I lost mine, and asked him specifically to come pick me up after the _failed solo mission._

I watch as more snowflakes fall.

Someone dressed in white puts a bright orange fluffy blanket around me. I don't say a word to that person.

The person leaves.

I dully notice that the snowflakes falling from the sky are scattering around my feet, and I can hear the _patter patter patter_ of the snowflakes falling on the ground and on top of the vehicle I'm sitting down in.

The snowflakes continue to fall.

I wait for Mr. Davenport to come here and get me.

More snowflakes fall.

The snowflakes fall into my hair and nestle into the skin of my scalp. But weird thing is that these snowflakes aren't cold like they always _always_ are, and they don't melt when they touch my scalp or entwine themselves in the locks of my brown hair.

More snowflakes fall.

Mr. Davenport said that he would be there to pick me up as soon as he could pinpoint my location. I just nodded and said "Okay" into the phone before hanging up.

He would get me out of here, out of this place. He would.

And then he told me to sit tight and wait for him there and don't move a muscle, don't try to find another way home, he'll come and get me as long as _I_ don't move. That was about ten minutes ago.

The snowflakes fall.

I'm still waiting for either a helicopter to come pick me up, or the self driving car, or for Mr. Davenport himself to come and get me. But he hasn't yet. So I begin looking around. There's not much to see around here in my location, so I quickly begin to get bored.

To pass the time, I look at the snowflakes.

I'm sitting in the back of something- maybe it's a car? I don't know. I just found my way over here and sat down.

No one seemed to mind.

The snow covers everything. My mission suit, my hair. My shoes. Everything. The ground, as well. I note that in some places more than others, the snow had gathered up into these cute little piles, and I watch the small piles of snow build up into even larger piles of snow.

I glance up at the sky with a sense of longing. The snow hits my face.

It doesn't melt when it comes in contact with my face.

I sit there.

I watch the people around me.

I sit there in the back of the vehicle.

I wait for Mr. Davenport to come and get me.

There is no sun out, at least that's what I think. The snow and the clouds must be blocking the sun from shining, warming the Earth. It's cold out.

A boot that belongs to a man around his mid thirties steps through a small pile of the snow. I hear the snow crunch under his weight, but don't say anything. The man moves on, busy with his work.

I sit there silently, waiting for Mr. Davenport to come and get me.

I watch the snow fall.

After a few minutes, I realize with a start that the snow looks like a dirty dusty sooty color, but I _am_ in a location that is near a factory, so that's to be expected.

I watch the dirty snow fall silently.

I am not alone. There are people dressed in white that mill around me, most of them casting weary and concerned glances at me. Most of them look upset whenever they look over at me. I don't know why, I'm fine.

Because I am. That's what I am. _I'm fine._

The people dressed in white keep on putting warm blankets on my shoulders and wrapping it around me, and it feels kind of like a warm hug.

But there's a problem. I'm cold because of the snow that's falling. The temperature seems to drop with each passing second, numbing me down to my bones and freezing me to my core. I wish Mr. Davenport would get here very, very soon so I can get out of this snow and away from this cold.

I watch the snow fall.

The snow falls on what used to be the scene of Miss Rebecca Annabella Carlson's School for the Exceptionally Gifted.

Innocent lives were lost here. Too many innocent lives. Forty seven lives, to be exact. Thirty five innocent school children and twelve teachers.

There are people here. They look warm, warmer than I am at the moment. They are all dressed in the color white. They keep asking me if I'm okay.

I nod.

I am fine.

 _"I'm fine, ma'am."_ I reply. _"I'm fine, sir."_ I say in a slightly annoyed voice, but they keep asking me that same question. Over and over and over again.

 _Are you okay are you okay are you okay are you okay are you okay?_ They ask.

 _I'm fine._ I would reply.

These people dressed in white ask me this question a lot, so I just nod and push the bright orange blanket off of my shoulders and turn away from the question, then watch as the blanket slip back and pool around in a ball in a clothed heap behind my back. I keep getting rid of the warm blanket.

The people dressed in white tell me that I need to keep it on. It's something called a shock blanket.

I find that idea kind of silly. I do not need it. I am not in shock.

 _I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine._ I would always say.

 _Because I_ am _fine._ I think as the people dressed in white walk away from me again. Over and over and _over again_.

 _You're in shock._ Another warm body dressed in white would reply as they would walk up to me, then gently and carefully slip the orange shock blanket back onto my shoulders.

 _I am not in shock._ I would say, then slip the blanket off of my shoulders stubbornly.

 _You're in shock._ They would reason again and again.

 _I am not in shock._ I snap, then grow angry as they slip the shock blanket onto my mission suit clad shoulders. This time I don't move it from my shoulders. The temperature has seemed to grow colder, dropped down.

I wait for Mr. Davenport.

I watch the snow fall.

I sit there in silence.

I wait.

The shock blanket is heated, and it's cold out. Well, it's winter now, and I'm in Grand Forks, North Dakota. Given the fact that temperature here _is_ only 12 degrees Fahrenheit right now, I should probably keep the bright orange shock blanket on.

 _But it's not for the shock,_ as I decided a few moments ago. _It's for the cold. Yeah, just the cold. I am fine._

I think I asked one of the people dressed in black what the temperature was right now. She pulled out her white Samsung Galaxy S6 from her pocket, then glanced at her white Samsung Galaxy S6, and then back up to me, then replied that it was "only 12 degrees out."

(Okay, so I might've imagined that, but that's okay. I'm fine. I'm just bored, that's all.)

I wait for Mr. Davenport.

I watch the snow fall.

I don't know how long ago it was that I asked the women in black what the temperature was. It could have been minutes ago, it could have been hours ago.

I don't know, I don't know.

It has not changed, the temperature. Not in a while. I've been here a while.

I watch the snow gather into little mounds again.

I failed the mission.

Thirty five innocent school children and twelve teachers. All dead. All gone.

 _Because I wasn't fast enough._

It's a few minutes later. I ask another person dressed in white what the temperature is outside right now. He had paused for a second, then he replied that it is same temperature outside. Only 12 degrees outside.

I keep the shock blanket wrapped around my mission suit clad body, despite the fact that I don't think I need it.

I don't need it, because Mr. Davenport will be here soon. He'll get me back to the Davenport mansion- our _home_ \- and I can finally take off my snowy mission suit from my cold and shaking body and take a shower before dressing in something warmer.

But this place will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Thirty five innocent school children and twelve teachers. All dead.

 _Because I wasn't fast enough._

I watch the snow fall onto the ground. I glance up at the people dressed in white that walk around me.

I sit there on the back of the vehicle and sit there in comfortable silence with my slow and jumbled thoughts swirling around in my head, only opening my mouth to speak, and when I do speak it is to snap and to growl out replies to these annoying people dressed in white. The people dressed in white who offer me more and more and _more_ of these brightly colored and insulated shock blankets that I don't want.

That I don't _need_.

I wait for Mr. Davenport to come and pick me up.

A mousey faced woman with dark brown hair dressed in white walks up to me. "Excuse me?" She stutters over her words a little bit, as if I've intimidated her, or as if she's not worthy to be in my presence.

The snow continues to fall all around us.

"Yes?" I reply, my voice kind despite the fact that I want her to go away and stay away.

"Do you want another blanket?" She asks me softly.

"No." I answer, my voice turning from kind to having an icy edge to it. "No, I don't want another blanket."

My hands are shaking badly from the cold.

She tries to reason with me, her voice so calm and so soothing, like a mother calming down her overexcited child, "But… but you're in shock-"

" _I am not in shock._ " I snap, tired of repeating the same thing over and over again.

Snow continues to fall.

I narrow my eyes and glare darkly at the women dressed in white, and the women with the long black hair just flinches, glances at me as if I'm a wounded animal, then turns on her heel and walks away.

A few minutes later another person dressed in white walks up to me.

"Do you want another blanket?" She asks me gently.

"No." I reply lifelessly for the billion and tenth time. "I don't want another blanket."

"But, Adam, you're in shock. You're shivering. This blanket will keep you warm, so let me put this blanket on your shoulders." She replies softly, holding the bright orange blanket out to me again.

I grind my teeth together loudly, then answer after a moment of internally screaming at myself. I sigh heavily. "That's because I'm in the freezing cold snow, lady." My voice is made up of icy steel.

I watch more snow fall onto the ground.

The lady stops just short of putting the bright orange blanket on my body. She stares directly into my dark brown eyes.

I frown. "What?"

The paramedic very slowly puts the blanket around me and straightens. "What did you say, Adam?" Her voice is gentle.

I watch more snow fall onto the ground and scatter in my hair. "The snow and the cold. I want to get out of the snow and the cold. I just want to go home."

Away from this place, away from the people I didn't save in time.

The innocent people.

The paramedic stares at me, her bright blue eyes as wide as those dog bowls Mr. Davenport had mentioned. "Adam…" she trials off.

I open my mouth and reply again: "I said that I'll be fine once I get out of this snow and this cold weather. I have a lot of snowflakes in my hair which is making me cold, see?" I run my black leather clad fingers through my dark brown hair. I watch as the snowflakes fall onto my fingers.

The women stares at me with a mixture of shock, horror, disbelief, and sadness.

I scowl at the women dressed in white, my hands trembling badly. "What, _again_?" I demand. "What is it, lady?" I bark.

The women visibly pales and replies in very, very shaky voice. "Those… that's not snow. Those are ashes… ashes from the explosion. You're... you have ashes in your hair."

I stare at the piles of _ash_ that has been gathering for a long time now. I feel dizzy, and I suddenly can't collect enough oxygen to breathe properly.

Ashes. Oh, God, those are _ashes_.

 _Ashes, ashes, we all fall down._

The bile that burns up in my throat and onto the asphalt, at least, sends a shock wave of warmth coursing throughout my system, but I find that all of the sudden, I don't really want the warmth anymore.

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